A Twist of Fate
by CherryChapstick808
Summary: Set during DH. Hermione is preparing to leave for The Burrow when an unexpected visitor arrives  and takes her to Malfoy Manor, where she is kept and tourtured for information. Along the way she becomes involved with Draco in more ways than one. Dramione.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:**

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately for my bank balance, I don't own anything of Harry Potter. If I did that would be awesome, but all credit goes to JKR, who is a genius.**

**So, this is my first attempt at fanfiction, and I'm not sure how it's turned out, but though I might as well upload it and see how it goes. This is set in Deathly Hallows, but isn't really compliant with it. I'm not sure if it will be compliant with the epilogue yet, I'm sorta making things up as I go... anyhoo, here you go... oh, and it's Draco/Hermione! Gotta love the dramione :)**

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The noise of the key scraping in the lock made Hermione wince. She jiggled the key up and down, trying desperately to get through the door and in to the confines of her house before the tears came.

"Come on, come _on._" She muttered frantically, blinking hard. A tear escaped and trickled down her cheek. Hermione leaned all her weight against the front door, turning the key so hard her knuckles turned white. The lock clicked open and she fell through the door, not even attempting to prevent the strangled cry – of relief or sadness she did not know - that ripped through her body as she did so.

She slammed the door shut and leaned against it, taking in the emptiness of her childhood home. She wasn't even sure why she hadn't let herself cry until that moment, but for some reason it was only now that she felt it safe to let everything out, everything that she'd been keeping hidden inside for so many weeks. The emptiness of her home and the loneliness of her situation hit her hard. The secrets of her summer all came spilling out in sob after sob, each one louder and more despairing than the last, each one discernable only by ragged, gasping breaths.

Hermione was aware of her body sliding slowly down the door to hit the floor, her arms moving to wrap around her legs and pull them closer and her head falling down to rest on her knees, but she could do nothing to control her actions. She felt her body move of its own accord, slowly curling in to a tight ball huddled on the door mat, eyes squeezed tight shut as if to block out the nothingness that enveloped her. She felt her sobs rake through her until there were no more tears to cry; instead she began to wail, helplessly and uncontrollably, her whole body aching with sadness and exhaustion.

She didn't know how long she cried for, but only when it became nothing more than short, sharp intakes of breath, did Hermione open her eyes. They stuck with tears and she rubbed them, trying to wipe away all traces of her breakdown. Her whole body ached, and she realised that she had tensed up completely, braced against the sudden onslaught of loneliness. One by one, she relaxed her muscles and tried to even out her breathing.

It would be OK, she told herself, but the words sounded false, even in her head. How could it be OK? The war was coming. She, Harry and Ron were preparing to leave behind everything they knew for... what exactly? It was a journey, and what they would find on it none of them knew. Hermione could read all the books she wanted and gather together as much information as possible, but that would only help them so far; nothing could fully prepare them for what was to come. And it wasn't just the trio who were braced for change – the entire wizarding world was balanced on a knife edge, ready to tip either way. No one knew how the war would play out. One slip on their part and everyone would be plunged back in to the depths of evil. A single error for the dark side and the light could triumph. There was nothing in it. And at the same time, there was everything to play for.

This brought Hermione back to the present. She ran a hand over her forehead in a fruitless attempt to smooth out the frown lines that had been etched there ever since Dumbledore's death. She had to get going, but first... first she wanted to say goodbye to her house.

It was nothing special or particularly large, just a modest Victorian terraced house, with a long, thin garden and steps leading up from the pavement to the front door. Ivy from the neighbours' house was begin to stray over to theirs, partially hiding the red brick walls from view. But to Hermione, this house was everything. It was her _home._ Her parents had brought it several years before she was born and Hermione had never lived anywhere else. All her childhood memories centred around this house: birthday parties at the dining room table; Christmases around the fire; long, hot summers spent running up and down the garden.

And now, to see it stripped bare of everything, it felt wrong to Hermione. She longed to see her own face smiling down from the pictures on the mantelpiece alongside her parents. She wanted nothing more than to step in to the kitchen and see her mother cooking dinner, or to go to her father's study, lined with shelf after shelf of books, and look through the door to see him leaning back in his big leather chair, reading some volume or classic that he would later pass on to Hermione. She wanted to sit with them in the living room and tell them about her previous year at school over a cup of tea, as was their yearly tradition. She wanted to see their faces, proud and almost disbelieving, as she told them of transfiguring mice to goblets and matches to needles, potions that could change your appearance in a sip and spells that charmed objects to fly.

But this year was different. This summer had not been a happy one for Hermione. She had been preparing herself, not just for the war, but for what would undoubtedly be the hardest thing she would ever have to do. Something harder than hunting for Horcruxes or battling Voldermort, because it was so personal for her. So close.

Her parents had known something was up; Hermione had heard them talking in worried tones about her. They knew that Dumbledore was dead and that things in their daughter's world were changing - for better or for worse - but really they had no idea and Hermione didn't think she could bring herself to tell them of the dangers she was facing, or indeed the danger they themselves were in.

She had planned it, down to the finest detail. Nothing would go wrong. And they would both be safe. She had modified her parents' memories and watched from afar as she had disappeared from their lives in an instant. Hermione Granger no longer existed to them. She was nothing, not even a memory. She knew that they would be safely arriving in Australia in a couple of days, having assured that a sudden urge to move to the other side of the world made its way in to both their minds and two plane tickets to her mother's handbag.

They would be safe and that was all that mattered. It was near impossible for Voldermort and his Death Eaters to find them, their identities having been changed completely, which meant they were spared the certainty of torture and death because of their involvement with her. She had saved them from that.

Hermione repeated this like a mantra to herself as she wandered from room to empty room of her house, but it didn't stop her from whishing that they were back at home with her. You've done the right thing, she told herself crossly, as tears stung her eyes once more. They can't be harmed anymore.

_But what if you lose?_ The voice in the back of her head whispered. _What if you lose the war and Voldermort finds them and kills them anyway? What if all this is for nothing?_

"_That won't happen!"_ Hermione snapped crossly, before shaking her head. She was going mad, she was sure of it. First the crying, and now this – talking to herself out loud.

_But what if you never find them? The voice continued, relentless. What if you win but you can't find your parents? Australia is a big place - what happens if they are lost to you forever? How will you cope?_ Hermione pressed her hands to her ears in an attempt to block out the voice, but it carried on regardless. _What if they enjoy their new life so much they don't want to come back? What if you can't perform the spell to reverse their memories back? What if you die in the war? What if they don't recognise you? What if –_

"SHUT UP!" Hermione shouted, tearing at her hair as 'what if' after 'what if' flew through her mind. She had to do something – anything – to distract herself.

Hermione had reached the last door of the upstairs landing. Her room. Would it even be there anymore? Hermione wondered. When she had modified her parents memories she had wiped every last trace of herself from their lives, so would she still have a bedroom to call her own? She took a deep breath and opened the door.

There was something there, but it wasn't the room as Hermione knew it.

The walls were bare – there were no pictures, not even paint. The floor was wooden and stripped. No furniture remained, nor any of her belongings. It was completely empty.

Hermione felt tears in her eyes and blinked them back desperately. She would not allow herself to cry again. That was done and now she had to focus on what was ahead of her. Crying wouldn't help to win the war any faster.

Hermione took a last walk around her room, pausing at the window to look out at the street below her. It was only late afternoon but already the sky was darkening. It was always dark nowadays, even though it was only midway through the summer. The road was deserted – most cars were now in their drives and some curtains had even been drawn already.

Even the muggles knew that something was wrong; they had begun arriving home earlier and earlier, staying inside and shutting themselves off from whatever was out there. Hermione knew how they felt. They couldn't see the dementors, and they knew nothing of the wizarding war, but they could feel it; the cold, empty feeling that seeped under doors and in to houses, searching for signs of human life to drain; the mist that seemed to close in on everything, coming nearer and nearer until it was difficult to breath; the despair and loneliness hovering like a dark cloud over everything.

Hermione felt it too, but for her it was all the more real. She lived, ate, slept, _breathed_ the feeling. It was all-consuming, overpowering and very much her life now. She, Harry and Ron had the power to change it all and the sooner they got started the better, in Hermione's opinion. The quicker they destroyed Voldermort's Horcruxes, the quicker Harry could kill He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named himself, and the quicker the war would be over. Then her parents could come home.

Keeping this thought in mind, Hermione pulled from her coat pocket a small, beaded bag. Delving her hand inside, she felt through each item in there, quickly ticking off a mental checklist. The bag contained over half of Hermione's vast book collection, spare clothes and several viles of an assortment of potions and tonics that Hermione though may come in useful on their hunt for Horcruxes. Despite this, it weighed next to nothing and appeared barely big enough to hold a pair of socks. Hermione smiled to herself; it was times like this that magic truly amazed her. The Undetectable Extension Charm that she has placed on the bag at the beginning of the summer holidays, when she had first begun gathering any belongings she might need, ensured that it could hold anything, no matter how big, and as much as she wanted, without it getting any heavier. She had found the charm while skimming through one of her old Hogwarts spell books and immediately performed the spell with the hunt for Horcruxes in mind. When Hermione reached The Burrow, she planned to gather together spare clothes for Harry and Ron, along with the tent they had stayed in at the Quidditch World Cup, as she figured they would be no five star hotels to stay in on their journey.

Once she was certain that everything they needed was safely hidden in the beaded bag, Hermione turned and took one last, long look around her bare room. Sadness washed over her, but she pushed it back. She _would not_ feel miserable. There was a job to be done and she would do it. No sadness. She would not permit herself to feel anything until the task they had been set was completed and everything could return to normal. Hermione promised herself this and felt a new determination fill her, something she hadn't felt since Dumbledore's death. With a last sweeping glance, she turned and closed the door behind her.

Hermione made it as far as the top of the stairs, feeling her way across the landing in the gathering darkness. Suddenly, the unmistakable creaking of a floorboard under a foot made her freeze. The noise was quite, barely discernable even in the loud silence of the house, but Hermione knew instantly that she was not alone. She thought about casting a _Homenum Revelio_ charm, so she would know the whereabouts of her intruder, but decided against it. She would only be giving her own hiding place away.

Careful not to make a sound, she stowed the bag back in her pocket and drew her wand from her sleeve. She was sure that the noise had come from downstairs – it was too faint to have come from the same floor – so ever so slowly, she made her way down, warily avoiding the third step from the bottom for fear of it creaking and giving her away.

She could see no obvious signs of a break-in – the door was still shut and no windows were open or smashed. Then again, she thought, it was most likely that the intruder had used magic to enter her house, so there would have been no need to break a window to gain entrance.

Hermione gripped her wand tighter and moved forwards. She paused at the living room door, her hand resting on the door handle. Slowly, she pushed on the brass knob. The door swung back to reveal the empty living room. The breath she had been holding whooshed out of her and she lowered her wand. Just a fraction, but that was all it took.

A laugh - a low, hard chuckle - from somewhere behind her stopped her in her tracks. Hermione's whole body froze. She dared not turn around.

"Giving up so soon, Princess?" The voice was low, just like the laugh, and had an air of amusement to it, as though the speaker was enjoying himself.

Hermione clutched her wand tightly, but kept her back to the man.

"And 'ere I was thinking we could carry on playing a little bit longer, darlin'. Hide and seek?"

She could hear him moving closer to her, his footsteps on the wooden floorboards unnaturally loud. Still, she didn't turn. She didn't move a muscle, frozen in fear. Hermione didn't recognize the voice, but was sure that whoever it was couldn't be good news. He was even closer now. She could hear his heavy breathing not far behind her.

"I do so love to play, after all." The man's voice was barely more than a whisper as he advanced towards her, "And you are very, _very_ lovely. _Princess._" Hermione felt his hands wrap around her waist and her breath caught in her throat. He let out another low chuckle. "I would rather like the chance to play with you."

His mouth was right by her ear and Hermione could feel his breath, hot on the back of her neck. She couldn't miss the double meaning in his words. She didn't move as he ran his hand up her side, gently, almost lovingly, although the feel of it made Hermione shudder in horror. She wanted nothing more to cower away from this hideous man's touch but terror kept her frozen in place.

"So. What say you, darlin'? Why don't you run and 'ide and I'll come and _find_ you?"

Hermione felt herself shaking and internally cursed herself. She felt the man smile against her cheek.

"Scared, Princess? Would you rather I just caught you now? I won't lie, that would be a bit of a disappointment, love. I was rather hoping for a chase. I've heard _you_ can put up quite a fight."

Hermione came to her senses. She snapped out of her terrified trance and in one swift move, brought her arm back to elbow the man in the ribs. Hard. She heard him curse and stagger back slightly, enough to loosen his grip on her and enable her to wrench herself away.

"Stupefy!" She yelled, spinning round to face him.

The man, recovered from Hermione's sudden attack, blocked the spell with ease.

"Confundo!" He turned his wand on her, but Hermione was ready; she sent the spell flying back at him and watched him duck as it rebounded off the wall, barely missing his head.

"Diffindo!" He growled, and Hermione had to throw herself to one side to avoid the spell.

She stumbled slightly, grabbing at the wall for support. The man gave another dark laugh and Hermione saw red. How _dare_ he break in to her home and try to attack her when her back was turned? How _dare_ he? She would show him that Hermione Granger was not a girl to be messed with!

"_Expulso!"_ She shrieked, and it was the man's turn to dive out of the way. The spell missed him, but hit the spot where he had been standing only seconds earlier; the floorboards exploded, the force of Hermione's spell so big that it blew a hole several feet deep.

There was another chuckle.

"Angry, Princess?" The man sneered.

"_Uurgh!"_ Hermione screamed in frustration. Why was he so calm? _She would show him._ She shot spell after spell towards the intruder, some ricocheting off the walls, others blowing more holes in the floor. The door was hit by a _Diffindo_ charm, causing it to be blown off its hinges. It fell to the floor with a deafening crash, narrowly missing the man, whose expression had turned from amusement to worry and was slowly backing off towards the door.

"Surely you're not scared of a teenage girl?" Hermione adopted a sneer very much like his own. She kept her wand held high, warily watching for the man's next move.

A flicker of anger appeared on the man's face, just for a second. Then it was gone, replaced by an evil smile.

"I think I like it when you're angry, Princess. Makes you look... _wild_." He gave her a wink.

Hermione's chest heaved indignantly. Her hair was wild from the duel and she has several cuts and scrapes on her face and arms from diving out the way of rebounding spells.

"Who are you?" She whispered.

"The name's Scabior. No need to ask who you are, Princess. Hermione Granger. I know _all_ about you."

"How do you know who I am? Why are you here?" She tried to ignore the leer Scabior was sending her way, and instead focused on his appearance, hoping it would give her some clue as to who he was.

"I've come to get you."

"W-what?" Hermione faltered slightly. Get her? To take where?

She took in the intruder's clothes – he was wearing a long coat that looked as though it was some years old, with big, black boots and fingerless gloves. Hermione was reminded of the homeless muggles you saw on street corners. His hair was long and black, tied back with a filthy piece of leather. His face was scarred and dirty – the overall impression was that of someone in need of a good wash.

"I'm taking you to someone, darlin'. They're expectin' you, so we'd better not wait much longer. Don't want to make them impatient, do we now?" He began advancing on her once more, and Hermione felt her anger dissolving to be replaced by fear.

"And who exactly are you taking me to see?" She tried to keep her voice steady, but it wavered all the same.

"Now now, Princess, don't be sacred." Scabior smirked. "All they want is a little chat. I'm sure you can manage that."

"_Who_ is it that wants to chat with me, exactly?" Hermione could feel her heart hammering in her chest. She wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer to her question.

Scabior stopped, less than a meter separating them. There was a hungry look in his eye that Hermione didn't like, but she stared back defiantly nonetheless.

"The Malfoys, of course. Pretty sure you've 'eard of them, darlin'."

Hermione froze, watching a smile spread slowly over his face. The Malfoys? As in Draco Malfoy, childhood enemy turned Death Eater and the cause of Dumbledore's death? And Lucius, well-known supporter of Voldermort, although rumoured to have fallen out of favour with the Dark Lord? Oh no. They _couldn't_ want to see her – the whole family were known muggle-born haters, and Hermione's presence in their house would surely involve torture. The Crutiatus curse, maybe? Or something worse than that? What if they tried to kill her? Or give information on Harry? She simply _couldn't_ see them.

"N-no." She whispered, stumbling back. She put a hand out to catch her fall, but before she hit the ground another hand snaked around her waist, grabbing her and pulling her upright. Scabior. She struggled against him. His face was only inches from her own and his wide smile was growing rapidly. Hermione saw his eyes flash.

"Yes, Princess." He murmured softly. With a dark grin, he turned, and the next second Hermione felt a sharp tug and her feet leave the ground; she was spinning, round and round, Scabior's arm holding her tightly to him. Too tight. He was too close. She tried to pull away, but the whirl of colour and noise around her was too much – she couldn't summon up the energy to do it.

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**So there you go. How was it? Reviews are always welcome :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thankyou so much to everyone who added this to their favorites or to story alert! I was so happy that people had actually looked at this that I decided to get a move on with the next chapter :) I will reply to reviews but I have to do some last-minute Christmas shopping, so that will have to wait until later, sorry. So here we go, next chapter and again, sadly, I don't own anything Harry Potter related...**

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Hermione hit the ground, hard. Something equally solid landed on top of her, pinning her down.

"Get. Off. Of. Me." She muttered, struggling to get away, but the solid being - which she now recognised as Scabior - grabbed hold of her wrists, preventing her from escaping.

"Not so fast, Princess." He leered down at her, using his full weight to trap her on the floor.

Hermione whimpered in pain. He was considerably heavier than she was, and the gravel that coated the ground she was lying on dug awkwardly in to her back.

"Come on now, darlin'." Scabior whispered in her ear, "What have I said about this? All they want to do is talk."

"Oh yes, of course, and I'm a dancing pixie." Hermione growled, fighting his strong grip on her wrists to no avail.

Scabior chuckled.

"You've got quite a sense of humour on you, Princess. What do you say to getting up off the floor and seeing what Mister Malfoy makes of it?"

"I say let me go, I want to go home." Hermione spat ferociously, as Scabior pulled her up and held her arms roughly behind her back.

"Sorry, Princess. No can do." He was behind her again, his mouth far too close to her ear for Hermione's liking. She tried to stop him from pushing her forwards, but he easily overpowered her, marching her forwards and straight through the black wrought iron gates in front of them as though they were nothing.

"Wha-?" Hermione gaped. How had that been possible? Then she understood. The Malfoys were expecting her.

She was propelled forwards by Scabior, fighting his iron-like grip on her wrists all the way, until they reached a dark mahogany wood front door. The double doors swung open of their own accord and she was pushed roughly up the stone steps and inside.

Despite the circumstances she was in, Hermione couldn't help but marvel at the entrance hall she now stood in. The ceiling was intricately carved and painted, and so tall that she had to tilt her head back to see it clearly. Several deep mahogany cabinets lined the walls, on top of which stood expensive-looking vases and ornaments. A vast mirror hung on the right hand wall, covering most of the space, the golden frame carved in to an elaborate pattern. The stone flagged floor was absolutely spotless and a grand staircase on the left hand side wound it's way up and out of sight to the upper floors.

Hermione attention was drawn back to the situation at hand by the sound a person approaching them.

She looked round and spotted none other than Bellatrix Lestrange stalking towards her as though she were a bird of prey and Hermione her quarry. She had a hungry look in her eye, much the same as Scabior's, although Hermione suspected the reasoning behind each may have been quite different.

"Well, well, well." Bellatrix sneered, "Look what we have here. It's Granger the Mudblood! Fancy that." She let out a high-pitched giggle.

"She put up quite a fight, Ma'am." Scabior spoke from behind Hermione. "It wasn't easy getting 'er here, I tell you."

Bellatrix turned her wild gaze on him.

"Yes, yes, you'll get a reward." She waved him off with an impatient hand. "Now then. What shall we do with you?" Her eyes were bright, excited, and Hermione could tell that whatever was in store for her here was not going to be pleasant. She felt a shiver run up her spine.

"Scab, you can go." Another wave of Bellatrix's hand and Hermione felt Scabior release her wrists from his grasp. She glanced around her, weighing up her options. She could turn back to the front doors and make a run for it-

"I wouldn't if I were you, Mudblood." Bellatrix sneered, "You make one false move and I swear, on the Dark Lord's name, you'll wish you'd never been born." She let out another girlish laugh. "Cat got your tongue, Mudblood?"

Hermione raised her chin defiantly. She wouldn't rise to it, she told herself sternly. Maybe if she kept her mouth shut, it would all be over quicker. Of course, that depended on what Bellatrix wanted from her. If it were information on Harry and Ron, they would expect her to speak and Hermione certainly wasn't willing to give them anything on her two best friends, so would they torture her? Hermione has a suspicion that she would soon be finding out, and that thought filled her with dread.

Bellatrix sauntered right up to her, stopping only when her face was inches from Hermione's own. She looked as though she were enjoying herself already.

"Fine. Have it your way." Bellatrix suddenly reached out and grabbed a handful of Hermione's hair, pulling hard. Hermione let out a gasp and Bellatrix cackled. "I'm sure you know what we want from you, Mudblood, so why don't you come with me and we'll have a talk about it. See if we can come to an agreement, yes?"

Hermione shook her head furiously.

Bellatrix's eyes darkened and she pulled tighter on Hermione's hair, twisting it round until she yelped out in pain.

"You know, Mudblood, I was rather hoping you'd refuse. It would have been no fun for me if you'd given up fist time. Now _I_ get to have a little fun of my own with you. And I'm sure Lucius will be just _desperate _to join in. And maybe I'll call Draco… I'm sure he'd jump at the chance to wipe that self-righteous little look off your face once and for all!" Bellatrix's voice had risen steadily until she was shrieking manically. Her voice echoed off the high ceilings.

"Now, now, Bella." Another voice sounded, and although Hermione could not see the speaker due to Bellatrix's hold on her hair, she had a pretty good idea of who it was.

Lucius Malfoy strolled in to her line of vision, a smirk on his face and a glass of firewhisky in one hand.

"Let's be gentle, shall we? After all, we wouldn't want Miss Granger here to think we were purely in this for the… ah… _pain_ and nothing more, would we?" He slurred slightly as he spoke and his mouth stretched in to what Hermione supposed was a smile.

She let out a short laugh. _The pain and nothing more!_ Hermione would sooner dance naked through Hogwarts than believe Lucius Malfoy when he told her he wasn't interested in torturing her.

Immediately though, she realised that had been a mistake.

Bellatrix's eyebrows shot up, her lips curling ominously.

"What was that, Mudblood?" She wrenched Hermione's hair downwards and pulled out her wand.

"Nothing." Hermione gasped, determined not to show how much pain she was in.

"That's funny, Mudblood, because I'm certain that I heard you laugh." Another pull on her hair and Hermione whimpered. "But that couldn't possibly be it." Bellatrix sneered, "Because a filthy little mudblood like _yourself _couldn't possibly have the audacity to _laugh_ at a pureblood - at someone so much more _worthy_ than yourself – like my brother-in-law, Lucius, here."

Hermione pressed her lips together tightly.

"What do you think, Lucius? Did you hear this piece of worthless muggle crap _laugh_ at you?" Bellatrix's wand had made its way up to Hermione's temple, where it now rested as its owner eyed her with utter contempt.

"You know, Bella," Lucius took a long sip of firewhisky and although his voice was still smooth and calm, there was a steely glint to his eye that hadn't been there before, "I think I did. And we simply couldn't have that, could we?"

Bellatrix giggled again.

"It's time you learnt your lesson, you filthy mudblood… _Crucio!"_

Pain like Hermione had never known shot through her. It felt as though a million white-hot needles were being pushed in to her skin from every angle; she writhed, trying to escape the all-consuming agony that coursed through her, but she couldn't get away. She was aware of her knees giving way, but Bellatrix's hand was still entwined in her hair, pulling her roughly upwards, so Hermione had no choice but to try and keep standing.

She could hear Bellatrix laughing manically, feel the witch's wand tip being pressed hard against her skull, see a blond head of hair that must have been Lucius smirking down at her, but black spots were beginning to appear in front of her, blocking her vision. Her head felt as though it would explode at any moment; she tried to stay standing, but her legs could not support her any more; she was on the ground and still the pain wouldn't leave her… then everything went blank.

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**Sorry it was a bit shorter, but I wanted to get it up right away. **

**Have a very merry Christmas! Reviews would make a great Christmas prezzie *hint hint* ;)**


	3. Chapter 3

**A.N: Hellooo :) So, this is chapter three. I'm actually pretty proud of this chapter, it's my favorite so far, so yeah... be nice! I thought it was about time we had some Hermione/Draco action going on, so this is the first time he sees her at the manor. I hope it's alright for everyone! Thankyou to everyone who reviewed or added my story to favorites - I will reply to them all individually when I get a chance. I like to do it to show people I appreciate it, ya know? Aaaaaanyway, I've rambled on way too much, so enjoy chapter three...**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything Harry Potter-wise, only the plot.**

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Hermione woke up with a pounding headache and the side of her face pressed against a cold stone floor. Every inch of her body ached.

Shakily, she tried to sit up; a sharp pain instantly shot up from her lower back to between her shoulder blades, while her head began to spin so much her vision blurred. Pressing a hand to her forehead, Hermione dragged herself to the nearest wall and leaned back against it, breathing hard.

From her position by the back wall, she was able to survey her surroundings. On the opposite wall was a door, made from iron bars, and beyond that Hermione could see steps leading up to what she supposed was the rest of Malfoy Manor. There were no windows, which lead her to the conclusion that she was in the cellar. The only light came through the bars of the door - they threw long rectangles of light across the stone floor. This didn't provide much for Hermione to see by however, ands the stone pillars that held up the ceiling only added to the darkness by casting tall shadows across the room.

From up above Hermione could heard voices and laughter. At least some people are enjoying themselves, she thought bitterly, raising a hand to her throbbing temple. Something hot and sticky met her touch. Blood. She supposed this was where her head had hit the floor as she passed out.

The clinking of cutlery from the manor above and the sudden low rumble of Hermione's stomach told her it was dinner time. She wondered how long she had been unconscious – she guessed it had been sometime around half past four when Scabior had broken in to her house, and Bellatrix and Lucius hadn't tortured her for long before she had passed out, so it must have been a good hour and a half.

Hermione threw another glance at the cellar door – she wondered if it was locked the muggle way or by magic. She suspected the latter.

She tried to get up again and, after a struggle, managed to pull herself upright using the stone wall. Taking a few shaky steps forwards, Hermione assessed the damage to her body. Apart from the cut on her head, she could see no other physical signs of damage; her jeans were ripped at the knees and the cuts and scrapes on her arms from her duel with Scabior were still there, but no new wounds were visible.

Her internal injuries were another matter altogether: there was no part of her that didn't ache. Her head, arms, back and legs all twinged painfully as she moved, almost as though they had been tensed for a long period of time – the after affects of the crutiatus curse, no doubt.

Slowly, Hermione made her way towards the door, stopping to lean against the pillars whenever she though her legs might give way. From what she had seen of the manor on arrival, it was enormous, and its cellar was no exception – it too her some time to cross to the opposite wall.

Eventually, however, she made it to the door. Ignoring the pain that shot up her arm as she did so, Hermione reached out and rattled the bars. The door didn't give. Turning her attention to the handle, she pushed down, but it was locked. Seeing no keyhole or bolt, Hermione supposed it had been done using magic.

She reached in to her coat for her wand, but it wasn't there. Panicking, she checked her other pockets, and then her jeans, but it was nowhere to be found. She spun round; maybe it had fallen out while she was on the floor. Crossing the cellar at a quicker pace, she scoured the area she had previously been lying in – nothing. Her wand was gone.

A light bulb flickered on in Hermione's head; they had taken her wand! Those disgusting, deceitful bastards had tortured her until she passed out, then gone through her pockets and _taken her wand!_ Not only had they kidnapped her and caused her an unbearable amount of pain, they had also stolen her only form of defence. How _dare_ they? Hermione seethed.

"Uurgh!" She let out a frustrated shout, rattling the iron bars with as much force as she could muster. The door didn't budge. She pushed harder against it. This wasn't _fair!_ She had to get to The Burrow, she had to help Harry and Ron. They couldn't do it without her. They needed her to find the Horcruxes. How was she supposed to help them if she was stuck here in the cellar at Malfoy Manor, with no wand? And they didn't know that she had been kidnapped – no one did. How would they find her?

Panic spread through her. She began shouting, louder and louder, rattling the door as though it would magically spring open all of a sudden and she would be free.

Then, another thought struck her. If they had gone through her pockets and taken her wand then they would also have found… _Her bag._ They had taken her bag, which contained not only all the possessions she had left, but everything they needed to destroy Horcruxes! What was she going to do?

"Let me out!" She shouted, so loud she though her lungs might burst. She knew it wouldn't help – there was no change of being set free until she had given the Malfoys all the information they wanted, and maybe not even then – but at least if she got someone's attention she might get some answers – _like what the bloody hell they had done with her wand!_

Suddenly, a figure dressed in black appeared at the top of the steps. Hermione stopped shouting. The person looked familiar -

"Shut up, would you, Granger. You're disturbing dinner."

Draco Malfoy descended the steps to stop in front of Hermione. She expected to see the usual trademark smirk plastered all over his face, but when he came in to view, she was surprised to see that he looked grave. There was nothing to suggest that he thought it funny that his childhood enemy was now locked in his cellar. If Hermione hadn't known better, she would have said he was upset at her capture.

But no, that couldn't possibly be it. There had to be some other explanation for the strange look on his face – maybe he'd been forced to lift a finger and do some work for once in his life. Or perhaps he was running out of Mudblood insults. Or maybe daddy hadn't been able to buy him the latest racing broom or –

Hermione realised he was talking to her and snapped out of her trance.

"- wouldn't be down here but Aunt Bellatrix told me to come and tell you that if you don't shut your disgusting mudblood mouth, she's going to come down here and shut you up herself."

"How charming." Hermione spat, noticing that he avoided eye contact with her as he spoke.

"Her words, not mine."

She was shocked at how dejected he sounded, and how reluctant he seemed to throw insults at her. What had happened to the Draco Malfoy she knew; the one who went out of his way to offend her in the corridors of Hogwarts? She thought back to how he would shout after he as she made her way to lessons, how he would stick out one foot and trip her up, sending her books flying, or how he had often tried to jinx her when her back was turned – which brought her back to her current predicament.

"What the hell have you done with my wand, Malfoy? Give it back!" She slammed a fist in to the iron bars and immediately regretted it. "Shit!" She cradled her wrist in her hand – another injury to add to the list.

"Language, Granger. Didn't think you had it in you." Malfoy leaned against the wall, watching her intently through the bars. That was more like it, Hermione thought, but still… there was something about they way he spoke to her, almost as though he didn't quite believe the words coming out of his mouth.

Hermione ignored him.

"Let me out." She said through gritted teeth.

"No."

"Draco Malfoy, you unlock this door right now, and give me back my wand _and_ my bag!" Hermione ranted. "And at least have the guts to look me in the eye after your father's had me kidnapped and tortured, you sick, spoiled, disgusting little arsehole! I hate you, you repulse me! You're just a younger version of your stupid father, you- "

In an instant, Malfoy had passed through the door in much the same was as Hermione and Scabior had through the gates earlier that day. He grabbed hold of her wrists and pushed her backwards, until she was pressed between him and one of the stone pillars. His face had turned; his expression was thunderous.

"Don't you dare compare me to my father, Granger." He snarled, his face inches from her own.

Hermione, feeling brave and a little reckless, sneered.

"What's wrong, Malfoy? Scared you won't live up to his disgusting, abusive ways?"

"Shut up." His voice was low, barely more than a whisper.

"Do you feel as though he's more of a Death Eater than you, is that it? Are you worried he's ashamed of you for being _such_ a failure?"

"I said, be quiet Granger. If you value your life at all, stop talking now."

Hermione ignored the dangerous tone to his voice and carried on.

"I mean, you did make rather a mess of Dumbledore's murder, didn't you, Malfoy?" Hermione was seeing red. If he was going to come down here and not even have the nerve to look her in the eye, and then pin her up against the wall, she was going to tell him what she really thought!

"Granger. I swear to God- "

"It didn't really go to plan, did it? After all, weren't _you_ supposed to be the one to kill him, not Snape? If you don't even have the guts to do that, then what's the use of having you around? I'm sure _the Dark Lord,"_ Hermione let her lip curl, "isn't very happy with you right now- "

"WILL YOU JUST SHUT UP?" Malfoy yelled, yanking her wrists upwards and holding them over her head with one hand. With the other, he pulled out his wand and pressed it against her temple.

She froze, feeling his hard body pressing in to hers. At that moment, she was truly scared of him.

"I warned you, Granger." His voice shook with barely suppressed anger. He dug his wand against the side of her head a little harder.

"I… I'm sorry." Hermione stammered, looking up and meeting his hard stare. She had always thought of his eyes as grey and cold, but now she was close enough to look in to them properly, she saw that they were in actual fact a stormy sea-blue. She was surprised to find that they were utterly mesmerising; she felt herself slipping in to their tempestuous, sliver-flecked depths.

Malfoy looked a little taken aback by her apology, and loosened his grip on her wrists. Hermione forced herself back to the situation at hand.

"What did you say?" he snapped.

"I'm sorry." She whispered, "I… I didn't mean what I said – well, not all of it… but I'm sure your father's not ashamed of you. From what I've seen he practically worships you!"

Another strange look passed over Malfoy's face, and Hermione was surprised to see how sad he looked. He lowered his wand and stepped back, letting go of Hermione completely. She slumped back against the wall, letting out a breath.

She watched as Malfoy raised his hands to his head and ran them through his hair, tugging hard at the silvery-blond strands. She hated to admit it, but Draco Malfoy fascinated her. He had changed so much from the stuck-up pureblood that she had known at school – the last two years had obviously taken their toll.

His head was still head in his hands. He looked so helpless that Hermione felt she had to do something.

"Are you OK?" She held out a hand, as though to rest it on his arm.

"Don't!" He jumped back as though he had just threatened him with Devils Snare. When he spoke again, his voice was so low and so soft that she could barely hear it. "Please don't."

"Don't what?" Hermione let her hand fall limply at her side.

"Don't feel sorry for me."

"Why? Are you so pure that a lowly mudblood such as myself couldn't possibly feel sorry for you?" She didn't bother to try and stop the venom work its way back in to her voice. What gave him the right to assume he was so much better than her?

"No." Hermione's head snapped up. Malfoy wasn't looking at her. His arms hung limply by his side, his hair dishevelled. She had never seen him look so vulnerable. She knew that at that moment, all his defences were down. His next words however, were completely unexpected: "Because I don't deserve your sympathy, Hermione."

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**A.N: So there you have it people! How was the Dramione for you?**

**I might be able to get another chapter up before Saturday, but it depends how fast I write. I'll try though! If not, I won't be able to get one up for another week because I'm going skiing with school and I may die, in which case I'm sorry ;) Seriously though, if I don't post anything else, I AM DEAD! Ahaha :D Imma shut up now, so please review, tell me what you though, and goodbye!**

**Megz x**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I promised I'd try and write fast so I could post another chapter before I go skiing and here it is! I switch to Draco's POV in this chapter. I'm not planning on doing it all the time because it gets annoying, but I just felt we needed to see why he does what he does... Enjoy! And as usual I own nothing but the plot...**

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A deafening silence filled the cellar.

Hermione stared at Malfoy, her eyes wide and her mouth open.

"What did you just say to me?" She managed to choke out.

Malfoy was now looking distinctly uncomfortable. He ran a hand through his hair again and turned away.

"I don't deserve your sympathy." He muttered.

"Yes, but… but what did you call me?"

"Wha- Hermione?" He frowned, looking back over his shoulder to throw her a quizzical look.

She nodded, mouthing wordlessly.

"You've- you've never called me that before." She whispered.

Malfoy shrugged, his eyes flickering from Hermione's face to the floor and back again.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did you call me by my name?"

"Well, it is your _name_, Granger. It's sort of what people do." She saw him shift nervously from one foot to another.

"Yes, but why choose now to start calling me Hermione? It seems a strange time to try and break a habit, given the fact that I'm locked in your cellar." Hermione was aware that she should probably stop talking, but she didn't understand _why_ – why he had said those things, why he was acting so bizarre. "I mean it's not as though you care- "

However, the rest of her sentence was cut off by Malfoy's lips crashing in to hers. She froze. His hands came to rest either side of her face, while he pressed up against her, effectively trapping her there.

His lips were warm and soft, something she hadn't been expecting - he had always seemed so cold at school. They moved gently against her own, and Hermione found herself quite enjoying the kiss. It was unhurried, yet passionate at the same time and she let her eyes flutter closed. She felt his tongue run slowly along her bottom lip and gasped, her mouth opening in response.

This seemed to bring Malfoy to his senses. He pulled away, an unreadable expression on his face, although Hermione saw his eyes were wide with shock. She brought her hand up to touch her lips, never breaking his gaze, and watched him mirror her actions.

"What- " She began, but he cut her off, his face screwed up in horror.

"Don't!" He turned and strode off towards the cellar door.

"Draco." Hermione didn't know why she said it or why she held her hand out to him, but suddenly she didn't want him to leave.

He paused, but didn't look back.

"I…" She stammered, not knowing what to say.

"You tell anyone about this, Granger, and I swear you will not live to see the light of another day. Got it?" He kept his back to her, forehead pressed against the iron bars of the door.

"But- "

"Keep your mouth shut if you ever want your wand back." It was an order, not a question.

"You have my wand?" Hermione gasped, but Draco has already disappeared up the stairs.

**DPOV**

He had kissed her. He had gone and fucking kissed her! Why? Why had he done that? How could he have been so stupid?

Draco slammed his fist in to the door of his wardrobe. The wood splintered and he felt his knuckles crack.

"Fuck!" He shook his wrist and looked down to inspect the damage to his hand. One of his fingers was deffinatly broken. Angrily, he pulled out his wand and fixed it. This was just great. Absolutely-fucking-fantastic. If his father ever found out about that incident with Granger, he was dead.

Not that he regretted it, and that was perhaps what Draco hated the most about having the mudblood in his cellar. He had _wanted_ to kiss her, from the moment he had walked down the steps. Perhaps even before then.

He shook his head violently. No, he wouldn't even let that thought cross his mind. The possibility that he could actually _like_ Granger was… absurd. And yet, when he had walked in on his father and aunt torturing her in the entrance hall, he had felt sick to his stomach. Eventually, he had persuaded them to stop, under the pretence that if they tortured her too much she could loose her mind and then they would never be able to get any information from her. In reality, he couldn't bear to see her writhing in pain on the floor any longer.

What Draco didn't know, however, was where this sudden need to protect Granger had come from. After all, he had made no secret of his hatred of her at school. His pureblood status had blinded him from the moment he had stepped through the front doors of Hogwarts and during his time there, he genuinely hadn't been able to stand the girl.

But now the war was so close - especially for him - his preconceptions had slowly begun to change. It was strange, because he would have thought having Voldermort around so often and having his house converted to headquarters would only have made his prejudice towards mudbloods stronger. But it hadn't. Instead, he found that as time went by, he grew more and more sickened by his father's actions and dreaded the days when the Dark Lord visited the manor.

He wouldn't deny that, at first, his death eater status had been a blessing – he was pleased to have been given such an important task and honoured that Voldermort thought him up to the job. However, as the year went by he had found that he was in fact _not_ up to it, and Voldermort only wanted him to fail.

What was more, Draco had never wanted to kill Dumbledore. In his younger years at Hogwarts, he had looked up to the wizard, who was undoubtedly great. However, he had learnt early on that admitting this in his household wad a big mistake to make – remembering the beating Lucius Malfoy had given him when his eleven-year-old self had told him this still made him shudder.

Draco had only ever wanted to please his father, but usually found himself failing. Lucius was almost always disappointed in Draco for something or other and was a difficult man at the best of times; having his family fall out of favour with the Dark Lord due to Draco's inability to kill Dumbledore had only made him all the more dissatisfied with his son. Add in his penchant for firewhisky and an incessant need to please Voldermort and Draco's life was now living hell.

And now he had this _thing_ with Granger to deal with. He hated the fact that she hadn't even been in the manor a day and he couldn't get her out of his head. He had heard talks of sending a snatcher to her house to see if she was still there, but he hadn't thought they would actually go through with that plan. After all, she was one of the Golden Trio and was surely too highly protected to reach. Apparently not though, Draco thought bitterly.

He thought back to his sixth year at school. How had he felt about her then? He had been so busy that year, what with trying to fix the Vanishing Cabinet, that he had hardly focused on anything other than the task he had been set. However, one thing that he hadn't failed to notice – along with the rest of the school – was that she was obviously in love with Weasly. While he had been having a great time sucking Lavender Brown's face off, Granger had become noticeably quieter. She had even begun to spend less time around Potter and the Weasel, for the first time in all their years at Hogwarts. Draco guessed it was because she couldn't stand to see Weasly with someone else.

He remembered feeling a little sorry for Granger at the time, but had quickly caught himself and brushed the feeling off as nothing more than a reaction to all the stress he was under. Looking back though, he wondered if that was all it had been.

And of course there was the Yule Ball to consider. He wouldn't freely admit it at the time, but Granger had looked simply stunning that night. He had been as surprised as anyone to see her walk down those steps in that dress that had made her look so… womanly. It had been the first time that any guy had pain her some attention, that much was obvious to Draco, and there had been _a lot_ of attention that night. Even a few Slytherins had commented on her appearance, although Draco hadn't been one of them - he couldn't go about tarnishing the Malfoy name by admitting that a lowly mudblood looked attractive.

He knew though, that he had been lying to himself. From then on, had watched as the Granger he knew slowly changed from the bushy haired, big-teethed know-it-all that had arrived at Hogwarts to an attractive young woman. And this thought scared the shit out of him, more than anything else.

Draco Malfoy wasn't supposed to find mudbloods attractive. He wasn't even supposed to find Gryffindors attractive, so to think that he might be harbouring some crush on one of the Golden Trio - and a muggleborn at that - simply couldn't _be._ It wasn't supposed to happen!

"Stupid fucking Mudblood!" He growled. The words sounded somehow wrong on his tongue. Angrily, he brushed the feeling aside and pulled out her wand, twirling it between his fingers.

"The stupid bitch deserves everything she's got." He muttered, sitting himself down on the edge of his bed and remembering all the times she had outdone him in class, or come back with some clever, cutting remark after he'd insulted her. This made him feel slightly better, but he couldn't quite shake off the feeling that he was doing something wrong.

The thought was preposterous – that he should feel _bad_ for insulting a mudblood. He was Draco Malfoy; he had never felt bad for doing anything in his life. He had never regretted anything before now.

But now fucking Granger was sitting down there in his cellar and all of a sudden things were changing. What the hell was she doing to him? He hated that she had such an effect on him when she'd arrived only a few hours ago! He had to get her out of his head.

Getting up and walking purposefully to the door, he decided he would go and pay his father a visit. Maybe some new mudbloods had come in that needed seeing to. Yes, that would definitely make him feel better, Draco told himself, choosing to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach.

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**A/N: So there you have it. How was it? I wasn't sure whether the kiss was too soon or not, but I wanted to move the story on a bit and thought it was about time we got some proper Dramione action going on! And I'm sorry I rambled on a bit.**

**When I get back I'll post the next chapter and after that I'm going to try and update a couple of times a week, because I'm nice, but I'll be back at school so sometimes it might be difficult. Wish me luck and keep your fingers crossed that I don't fall off a mountain! If I survive it would be lovely to come back to your reviews )**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hello! I'm back from skiing and, surprisingly, still alive :P Here's chapter five for you. This one is more of a filler chapter if I'm honest, so there isn't much action going on. I know things are a bit slow right now, but I'm building it up to something, I promise!**

**Thankyou to all of you who reviewed or added this story to their alerts. I appreciated it HUNDREDS and it really motivates me to write faster and better!**

**Also, I'm sorry if those who have this story on alert sometimes get more than one email. Sometimes my computer likes to cooperate with me and other times... not so much. Anyhoo, on with the show and, as usual, I own nothing but the plot...**

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Hermione sat with her back resting up against on of the stone pillars. She had purposefully chosen the one furthest from the cellar door and had her head turned away from the only source of light.

It had been two days since Malfoy had come down to the cellar. After he had gone – or rather, after he had run away - she had sat in the dark and cried. They weren't the same tears as those she had shed earlier that same day; she didn't wail or curl up in a ball with her eyes closed. She simply sat there, letting the tears fall silently down her cheeks.

She didn't know how she had managed to get herself in to such a helpless situation. She cried because she could see no way out, not just of the cellar, but of this whole ordeal. For someone with such a logical and rational mind, this was a scary thought. That was why she cried - because she had never been presented a problem that she could not solve. But now it seemed as though she had found one. And she wasn't just talking about being trapped in Malfoy Manor.

No, she was also talking about the youngest Malfoy himself. He had well and truly stumped Hermione. She had never known him to act so out of character before, and she was confused as to why he was acting in such a way. At Hogwarts, he was always so calm and collected, even when he was angry. And he had _certainly_ never hidden his dislike for her and every other muggleborn in the wizarding world.

But when he had come to see her in the cellar, he hadn't called her a mudblood once. Not a single time, not even when he had stormed off in anger. And Hermione had been given the distinct impression that he was not happy to see her there. She didn't know whether this was because he simply did not like her, or because he did actually have a small amount of kindness and sympathy inside him and didn't want to see an old classmate tortured.

Whatever the reason, she couldn't fathom what on earth it was that had made him kiss her. She shuddered slightly at the memory and touched a hand to her lips. She could still remember what it felt like to have his lips on hers. And Hermione didn't like it one bit – not because it had been unpleasant, but because she had enjoyed it.

This was _Malfoy._ He was stuck-up and selfish and prejudiced and she was supposed to hate him. Hell, before coming to the manor she had been sure that she _did_ hate him. He was the reason that Dumbledore was dead, after all. But seeing him so conflicted had ignited a pang of sympathy for the blond-haired boy. She had never seen him unsure before and it had shocked her. Before he had left the cellar, he had seemed to be having some inner battle with himself, much like Hermione was now.

She shook her head and wiped away the remaining tear tracks that streaked her cheeks. She was confused and shaken by what had happened to her; surely this was the reason for the strange feeling inside her. She simply felt sorry for Malfoy, having to put up with his dreadful father and the pressures of Voldermort staying in his house. Hermione wouldn't wish that on anybody, not even her worst enemy. That was it. Just sympathy. Nothing more. There couldn't possibly be anything more to it, she told herself sternly, attempting to find a comfy position in which she could catch some sleep. This whole thing was absurd.

And that was how she found herself two days later, sitting in much the same position and the same questions circling her head. She had fallen in and out of uneasy sleep, and each time she had jerked awake expecting to find Bellatrix or Lucius standing over her. They dominated her dreams too, taunting her with snide comments before turning their wands on her. A couple of time she awoke with a scream, her whole body covered in a thin layer of sweat and Bellatrix's cackling laughter still ringing in her ears.

She had also dreamed of Draco. In one particular nightmare, she was in complete darkness, stumbling around and unable to find a way out of wherever she was, when suddenly she had bumped in to something solid. Looking up, she saw a faint light illuminating silvery-blond hair and grey blue eyes. That was all she was able to establish about the figure however, because at that moment her eyes would snap open and the image would slip away like water through her fingertips.

Hermione found these dreams just as disturbing as the ones in which she was tortured. She wished she could get Malfoy out of her head, but that was turning out to be an impossible feat.

It also unnerved her that no one had been sent down to check up on her. She would have thought the Death Eaters would be desperate to get all the information they could out of her and she didn't understand why no one had come to have another 'talk' with her yet. She supposed they were biding their time, trying to keep her as on edge as possible so she would be all the more susceptible to their persuasion when it finally came.

It was certainly working. Every time she heard a loud noise from above, or footsteps at the top of the stairs, she froze in fear. She didn't know who she was more frightened of seeing again: Lucius and Bellatrix, or Draco.

It didn't help that she could hear other muggleborns being brought in. Four more had come to the manor in the two days she had been there and they only reason Hermione knew they were of muggle lineage was because of the struggle in the entrance hall and the following screams that accompanied their arrival.

Each time, Hermione had felt the bile rising in her throat as she thought of what they were going through. She knew what the crutiatus curse felt like and it was horrible to think that there were people sick enough to take pleasure in something so painful.

She had expected the other captives to be brought down to the cellar, but so far no one else had joined her. Hermione wondered where they were being taken. She briefly wondered if there was more than one cellar at the manor, but from the sound of the footsteps up above, the muggleborns were not being brought downstairs. It sounded to Hermione as though they were being taken outside, but she couldn't understand for the life of her why. Surely they weren't simply being set free? That didn't seem like a plausible answer.

There were so many questions flying round Hermione's head, all of them unanswered, that she felt exhausted from just thinking about it all. She hated to leave so many problems unsolved, but the little light she had from the cellar door was quickly fading and sleep was tugging at her eyelids.

She lay down on the hard stone floor, trying unsuccessfully to get comfortable. She thought about taking off her coat to use as a pillow, but it was so cold down in the cellar that she shivered at the prospect. Instead, she reluctantly allowed her eyelids to close, knowing that her nightmares would soon be upon her once more.

When she woke up again, her vision was blocked by a black outline standing over her. With a sharp intake of breath, she pulled herself in to a sitting position and looked up in to the eyes of the dark figure.

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**A/N: I'm going to upload the next chapter ASAP because this chapter was boring and short, I know. Sorry about that :/ **

**Also, I've just started another story about Astoria and Draco. I haven't uploaded any yet because I'm still sorting out the plot, but I'm thinking about having it from Astoria's POV, in diary form and starting from her first year at Hogwarts. Sound like something any of you might be vaguely interested in? Yes? No? Maybe? Why not drop by that lovely button below and tell me ;)**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Sorry I uploaded this twice. I'm telling you, my computer is holding something against me! Right, I've spent most of this afternoon editing and re-editing this to get it up for today, because I know the last chapter was awful. I probably should have been doing science revision, but whatever... ;) I'm quite pleased with this chapter, I think the second half is pretty sweet.**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter, although if JKR were to offer it to me, I wouldn't say no...**

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Lucius Malfoy sneered down at her, a nasty glint in his eye.

"Having a nice sleep, were you, Miss Granger?" His tone was light and casual, but Hermione could hear the false sentiment in his words. She watched him thread his wand absentmindedly through long, pale fingers.

"_Miss Granger?"_ She raised her eyebrows, wondering where her sudden bravery had come from.

In an instant, Lucius was crouched in front of her, an animal ready to pounce, his face inches from her own.

"If I were you, Mudblood," He drawled calmly, although his lip curled as he spoke, "I'd be a little more careful how you acted around a pureblood such as myself. Insolence will not be tolerated in my household, especially coming from the likes of you." He stood and brushed off his robes.

Hermione was sure that taking this any further would result in serious consequences for her, but her mouth didn't see to be working in line with her brain.

"A pureblood like you, _Mister_ Malfoy?" She adopted a derisive tone similar to Lucius' own. His jaw twitched and the hold on his wand became a little tighter. Hermione doubted whether any muggleborn had spoken so rudely to him before.

"Yes, Miss Granger." He threw her smirk, as though reminding her the formalities were purely a mask to hide his distain. "Do you have a problem with my blood status?"

"No, no. Not at all." Hermione flashed Lucius a pleasant smile. Two could play at that game. "I was merely wondering whether that was the correct term to use in your current… _situation."_ She wished she could shut herself up, but the ability to stop taking appeared to have vanished.

Lucius' eyes flashed.

"And whatever do you mean by that?" He snapped.

"Well, I hear you're not currently – how can I put this? – in favour with the Dark Lord, so surely a threat like that is irrelevant. You're not longer top dog remember, Lucius." She shot him another winning smile.

He looked as though he had just been forced to swallow an entire bottle of Skele-Grow. His lip cured in to a snarl and he lunged at Hermione, grabbing a fistful of hair and pulling her upright.

She couldn't stop the whimper of pain escaping.

'I warned you." His voice was so calm, so quiet that Hermione had to strain to hear him. It sent shivers down her spine. "I warned you that I would not be spoken too in such a manor, especially not by someone as disgusting and lowly as _you, _Mudblood." He pressed his wand against the pulse point on her neck.

Hermione trembled involuntary and Lucius gave a low chuckle.

"Is that fear, Mudblood?" His whispered.

"N-no." Hermione stuttered as his wand pressed harder in to her flesh.

"I think we both know that's a lie." He smirked. "Draco tells me you're missing you wand. Well let me tell you something, Granger. People like _you_ don't deserve wands. If I had it my way, none of you pieces of _filth_ would be allowed to study magic at all. It's mudbloods like you who clog up our society – you're nothing more than vermin, the lot of you! And very soon, _Miss Granger,_ I shall have my way. Because the Dark Lord will rise, let me assure you and then the lot of you will be gone from our world. For good." Lucius allowed himself another cold laugh.

His words made Hermione sick. She struggled against him, but his grip on her was too tight to escape.

"Before I get rid of you, Miss Granger, there is one thing I need from you. Just a small favour really. You see the Dark Lord is particularly interested to know what your little friends are up to. He wants to know where they're going and what they're after."

Hermione kept her lips pressed tightly together. She wouldn't give in to him.

"I know you know, so why don't you save yourself a lot of trouble and tell me."

"And if I do?" Hermione gasped, for Lucius' wand was now pressed so hard against her windpipe it was difficult to breath. "You get back in Voldermort's good books and I get murdered anyway?"

Lucius let out a snarl.

"Thought so. I'd rather keep my friends' plans to myself, thanks." There it was again, that inability to keep quiet when she knew she should.

"Very well." Lucius relaxed his hold on her hair and stepped back. "Crucio!"

Hermione couldn't help but scream. Almost instantaneously, she fell to her knees, her forehead pressing against the cold floor.

"Anything you'd like to tell me, Miss Granger?"

Hermione managed to give the briefest shake of her head. With a flick of Lucius' wand, the pain increased.

White spots appeared in front of Hermione's eyes. She couldn't see, she couldn't think, she couldn't feel anything except the white-hot sensations coursing through her. She was vaguely aware of her limbs jerking uncontrollably, but was powerless to stop them. All she wanted was for it to end. Her head felt as though it would explode from the pain; she clutched at her hair, her forehead coming in to contact with the stone tiles again and again as her whole body rocked back and forth; she was screaming so hard her voice turned hoarse.

Please, God, let it stop, she silently begged. The last thing she saw before passing out was another figure next to that of her abuser – a figure with the same white-blond hair and piercing eyes. Then she was gone.

* * *

"Granger. Granger, wake up." Somebody was shaking her.

"Hm?" She raised a hand to her face to brush away the few strands of hair that had fallen there. Her back muscles twinged painfully in response.

Blinking slowly, she struggled to pull herself in to a sitting position. She slumped back against the wall and took a look around her. She was still in the cellar and nothing had changed since she had last been conscious – nothing, except the conflicted-looking boy sitting opposite her and eying her with trepidation.

"Oh," was all she said at the sight of him. Her voice croaked painfully, her throat dry from screaming. The ordeal with Lucius came flooding back to her.

"Here." Malfoy waved his wand and a glass of water appeared before her. Hermione eyed it warily. "I haven't poisoned it!" He snapped, seeing her glance at it. After a second or two, she reached out and took a sip. It was ice-cold and instantly soothed her raw throat.

"Thankyou." She looked up and found him staring at her. His eyes flickered away immediately, embarrassed to be caught out, and a slight blush tinted his pale cheeks. Hermione felt herself redden too, although she had no idea why.

"How long have I been out?' She asked, when it became obvious that Malfoy wasn't going speak first.

"Few hours." He shrugged. "Father came down here at about eleven this morning. It's around five now." He seemed to be examining a very interesting piece of floor between them. Hermione stared at it too, for want of something better to do.

"Well, I have to say, Malfoy," She sighed, after a few minutes of silence went by, "you're father casts a mean crutiatus curse." She wasn't sure why she said it - after all, she didn't find the use of the spell remotely funny and ached considerably from it - but she had felt a compulsive need to break the awkward silence between them, and that had been the first thing to come in to her head.

Malfoy's head snapped up in surprise. He snorted derisively.

"Good one, Granger." He muttered, looking away, although she was sure she saw the corners of his mouth twitch ever so slightly.

Hermione smiled and tilted her head back against the wall. This was all too strange for words. She could feel Malfoy's eyes on her again, but it didn't make her nearly as uncomfortable as it should have done. Instead, she simply stared up at the dark ceiling. For the first time since her arrival at Malfoy Manor, she found she didn't have a million and one questions running through her mind. It was actually quite peaceful just to sit with him for a while.

Suddenly, her stomach gave a huge rumble.

"Oh!" She bit her lip, embarrassed, as she realised she was starving.

"Hungry?" Malfoy smirked.

"It's alright for you. You're not being kept down here half starved." She snapped back. Her sleeping pattern had become so irregular that she hadn't really thought much about food at all. She suddenly realised that she hadn't eaten for almost three days.

Surprisingly, Malfoy didn't come back with some offensive remark. Instead he pulled out his wand again and conjured up a sandwich. Tentatively, he pushed it towards her.

"It's safe to eat." He muttered, with a hint of sarcasm.

She simply raised her eyebrows and took a bite. It wasn't much, but it was a nice action. For too nice for Malfoy, but she was so hungry that she pushed the thought to the back of her mind. He watched her eat, an air of slight amusement about him.

"Don't worry, Granger, no one's going to come and take it away." He said, as she wolfed down the last crust.

"Shut up, Malfoy. I'm hungry, OK."

She caught his eye and he didn't break her gaze. She wasn't sure how long they stayed like that - just looking - but eventually he got up and walked away without another word. She watched him pass through the door as though it were smoke, before a new wave of questions washed over her, swallowing her whole.

* * *

**A/N: Sooo, it was Lucius. What do you think? I'm pleased with how this chapter turned out. ****Thankyou to all those who review, I really appreciate it!**

**Oh, and also, I changed my pen name, in case anyone was wondering :)**


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